But it's Just a Poor Defenceless Rubber Duck
by Emerald Kitten
Summary: Carol has no idea why Daryl asked her to join him in the watchtower that morning, but she would have never guessed he was asking her there for this. Whatever did a poor defenceless rubber duck do to deserve this fate? This is my submission to the USS CARYL Tumblr Prompt Contest.


The early morning sun held little warmth as it shone down on Carol's upturned face. The mornings were growing systematically colder as winter grew closer and closer with each passing day. The air held such a bite that Carol had resorted to wrapping her favourite scarf around her head as a makeshift turban; anything to trap her body heat from escaping. The cheerful purple color reflected her good mood. Not that she needed a piece of fabric to bring a smile to her face today.

Today, she had a date…sort of.

She had no idea why Daryl had asked her to meet him at the watchtower at such an early hour. For a moment she had entertained the thought that maybe he was asking her to meet him there for the same reason Glenn and Maggie would meet there. Some_ alone_ time. Giggling at the impossible though, Carol continued to make her way across the yard as she pressed forward towards her destination. She knew Daryl wasn't asking her to meet for some sort of romantic rendezvous. They weren't like that. He was her closest friend, and she could not afford to let her feelings for him get in the way of that.

She kept her eyes sharp as she glanced around the yard. The Governor and his men were still at large, but without a sighting for the past month the entire group had started to breathe easier. Plus, she trusted Daryl was keeping as eye on her as she approached. He always did. She knew that he wouldn't let any harm come to her.

Wrenching the door to the tower open, she started to make her accent to the viewing platform. Reaching the top, she found Daryl standing on the balcony, his back facing her. The wings on his vest combined with the first light of the day made him look like an apocalyptic guardian angel as he leaned against the railing, his eyes fixed firmly on the surrounding forest. A damaged protector keeping vigil as his family slept soundly below.

"Hey," she called hesitantly as she let the door behind her swing shut soundly.

He turned, his rifle held firmly before him as he nodded to her once in greeting. His blue eyes barely flickered over her before he returned his watch to the tree line.

"I brought you breakfast," Carol smiled warmly as she held up the bowl of rapidly cooling oatmeal in her hand.

She walked forward, presenting the bowl to the silent man standing at the railing. The simple action reminded her of their first night at the prison. Her bringing him the meagre offering of food as he stood guard on the upturned bus. Her joking offer to 'screw around'. He had shrugged it off, as Carol knew he would. Daryl wasn't that sort of man. But if he had of taken her up on the offer…she didn't even let the thought enter her mind. Why think about something you knew would never happen?

Daryl bent down to prop his rifle against the wall, his back cracking with the action as he moved. Grunting his thanks, he took the bowl she held out. Their fingers brushed as she passed it him, sending a warm tingle of electricity up her arm. Turning away from him, from _that_ electricity, Carol moved to stand further along the railing, leaning her hip against it and folding her arms tightly across her chest in a vain attempt to keep warm. It was even colder up on that tower than it had been on the ground.

"You asked me up here for something, or was it just for the meals on wheels?" Carol joked as she let her eyes trail across the grounds before her. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was different this morning as she surveyed the surrounding forest. Not just the fact that Daryl had requested she meet him here; something else was off. She took in the beautiful early morning sunlight as it cast a hazy glow across the prison grounds, looking like a whisper-thin veil had been thrown over the awakening day. The silence that clung to that veil was almost suffocating.

Wait…silence? There was no such thing as silence in a world where the dead made more noise than the living. The dead were magnetically drawn to the living after all. The soulless creatures couldn't stay away from a fresh meal. Where were the strangled groans and growls of the walkers that had become common sounds in this new world?

Carol hadn't enjoyed silence like this since the farm. Straining her ears, she searched for the faintest sound but heard nothing except nature's silence as the world awoke.

Silence in this post-apocalyptic world was more than golden…it was unheard of.

Not one single walker was clawing against the perimeter fence. The winter cold slowed them down sure enough, but this was the first morning in months that Carol hadn't seen a walker at all. Letting her gaze continue its scan of the surrounding area, she found the reason why there were no stumbling corpses to be seen.

"Get a little bored during watch did we?" She asked, nodding her head towards the large pile of dispatched walker bodies located far outside the prison fence.

Daryl grunted, not looking up from his meal as he answered. "Got sick of their moanin' at all hours," he grumbled. "Besides, I needed them gone for what we're doing now."

"You killed all those walkers just for me?" Carol teased lightly as she looked over her shoulder at him. Watching as he finished his oatmeal, his brows furrowing at her joke, she asked the question that had been on her mind for days now. "Why _am_ I here?"

"Target practice," he stated simply, joining her as he placed his empty breakfast bowl on the railing beside her hip.

"Target practice?" Carol echoed with surprise. Whatever she'd been expecting, that certainly wasn't it. Why was he calling just her out for this? There were dozens of Woodbury residents that couldn't even hold a gun. Carol knew her way around the arsenal of weapons the prison now held, and her aim had improve immensely. Why had he dragged her out her in the freezing cold morning for target practice?

"I don't get it," she asked with confusion. "Why do I need target practice? I'm an alright shot."

"Last time we was up here you nearly took Rick's foot off."

"Is Rick ever going to let that go?" Carol muttered under her breath. Shaking herself slightly, she squared her shoulders before speaking again. "Why just me, why not train some of the others who really need it?"

He snorted with amusement. "Ya mean the kids who ain't old enough to wipe their own asses, or the old bastards that fall asleep before they finish eatin' their food?"

She wasn't going to let his attitude distract her from the argument at hand. Others needed help more than she did. "Exactly Daryl. _Those_ are the people who need to be able to defend themselves. I can hold my own." She dared him to disagree as she stared him down. Carol took a step toward him, not willing to let the matter drop. She was so close now; barely a foot of space was left between them.

Daryl dropped his head towards the floor, ducking her intense glare as he in turn took a step back from her. His voice was softer, more hesitant when he finally spoke. "We need to be ready. That Governor asshole's gonna be back for his pound of flesh one of these days. When he comes," he faltered, taking a moment before he raised his head and stared her straight in the eye. "When he comes, just being an _alright shot_ ain't gonna cut it. You need to be better. You need to be ready."

He was staring at her so intently, struggling to communicate something that he couldn't vocalize. Then it hit her; this was about Merle. The older Dixon had been more than an alright shot. He had been an expert marksman. But even his military training hadn't saved his life. Merle had gone out guns blazing as he battled the Governor. Carol realized that the look Daryl had levelled at her was one of pleading. He wouldn't risk losing anyone else. He needed to protect the remaining members of his family the only way he knew how. Training them. Training her.

"Ok," Carol nodded her head slowly with acceptance. If this was what Daryl had to do to feel in control again she would let him have that.

The change in his demeanour was instant. The tension fell from Daryl's shoulders as he relaxed, smirking with his small victory. Breaking the intense connection of their locked gazes, he turned his body to grab the rifle from its resting place against the wall. It was one of the newer weapons to the prison; a welcome bonus from the Woodbury weapons storeroom. Holding it out to her wordlessly, Carol took the offered rifle. It was some sort of military grade weapon. Bracing it against her shoulder, she positioned herself against the railing once more. The memory of the aching muscles she received the first time she really experienced the kickback of a rifle came instantly to her mind. The following memory of Daryl's calloused hands gently massaging the pain away brought a slight blush to her cheeks, warming her still cold face. Looking down the scope of the rifle, Carol searched the surrounding forest for targets. Walkers were always used for target practice, but Daryl's early morning killing spree had left her with nothing to fire at besides the distant tree line.

"Hit those targets down there."

Another shot of electricity pulsed through her body as his voice, so close to her ear, answered her unasked question.

How did he manage to creep around like that? She felt her breath hitch in her throat in response to his presence; his proximity. _'Stop it Carol, he's just a friend,'_ she chided herself silently. Reminding herself to breathe slowly and focus on the task at hand instead of the man standing distractingly close to her, Carol lowered the rifle. She searched the yard with her naked eye for whatever Daryl had wanted her to aim at.

She couldn't see any targets, not at first anyway. But as her eyes surveyed the ground below her, she slowly started to pick out items nestled in the tall grass that had no business being there. Leaning slightly over the railing, Carol could just make out a small box of some sort, a piece of cardboard with a red target painted on the centre…and something else. An item that was small and yellow and completely inappropriate for target practice was sitting in the middle of the yard like a shining beacon. He had to be kidding.

"Is that a rubber duck?" Carol asked with disbelief as she turned to face him again.

Daryl shrugged casually. "Found it on a run. S'good color for target practice. Can't lose it amongst the grass."

"You want me to shoot a rubber duck?"

He smirked at her with amusement. "That's the idea."

Carol looked back at the innocent children's toy on the ground below. "But it's just a poor defenceless rubber duck."

Somehow, shooting a plastic toy seemed far worse that driving a crowbar through the head of a rotting corpse.

"I can't shoot that," Carol argued as she stared transfixed by the tiny item. "It never did anything to me." Wrenching her eyes away from the duck, Carol shot a questioning look over her shoulder at the man asking her to do this. She dipped the nose of the rifle towards the toy at the centre of the controversy. "Give me one good reason I should shoot Ernie's best friend over there."

"I thought Bert was Ernie's pal," Daryl countered as he reached into his vest and removed a small object from the interior pocket.

Carol's eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning when she realized what he was holding in his hand. She never thought she'd be so happy to see a piece of the old world in her entire life.

"A toothbrush?" she asked with hope as her hand drifted unconsciously towards the tiny plastic marvel. Still sealed tight in its original packaging, this tool of dental hygiene was something of a rarity in the new post-apocalyptic world. Especially brand new like this. The bright red item beckoned her like a siren singing her name.

Food, weapons, shelter, medicine, clothing. These were necessities in the new world. A toothbrush wasn't always on the list when someone went on a run. The other requirements to survival took precedence over something so trivial. No-one ever thought to bring back a toothbrush or a nailfile or a book. Pens and paper for Carl to attempt schooling were considered non-essential now too.

A toothbrush offered a little piece of luxury akin to what fine chocolates, champagne and silk sheets had offered before the world ended.

She knew he was watching her reaction to the item in his hand. Daryl did always kept an eye on her after all. For a fleeting moment, Carol wondered if he had picked out this toothbrush, in her favourite color no less, just for her to have. She dismissed the idea as soon as it popped into her head. He wasn't like that. He didn't bring her little gifts _just because_.

Well, not unless it was a Cherokee rose…

"Found it on our last run. You make those shots, it's yours," his soft voice broke through her thoughts, severing her entrancement with the toothbrush as she dropped her hand limply to her side.

Carol's eyes moved up to find his. She was right; he had been watching her. Waiting for her reaction.

"Why did you kill all the walkers? Wouldn't it have made more sense for me to use them for target practice?" Carol asked. She was determined not the shoot the duck if she could help it.

He shook his head as he answered. "Too much noise with the walkers rattling the fence. Need you to stay focused."

"Yeah, because the walkers usually hush right up when you pause to take a shot at them," she quipped. Something suddenly occurred to her. "Won't the rifle sound draw more of them out?" Carol found that she was quite enjoying the silence that had fallen over the prison without the constant moaning of the ever-present walkers.

"The rifle you're holdin's quiet. Won't even wake the others from their beauty sleep," Daryl looked over his shoulder towards the prison. "Not all the way out here it won't anyways."

Carol though about the offer for a moment. As much as she objected to shooting a beloved children's toy in cold blood, she really wanted that toothbrush. She honestly hated to think of what state of cleanliness her teeth were actually in. Her debate raged internally for a few minutes as she watched the sky growing brighter and brighter as the new day grew older. Finally, she made her choice.

Dental hygiene won out.

Steeling her shoulders with her new-found resolve, Carol looked at Daryl and nodded her head in acceptance of his terms. She turned to face the targets scattered across the grassy area again, willing herself not to think about the rubber duck she was about to blow to kingdom come. Raising the scope to eye level, Carol squinted as she sized up her first target; a faded upside-down cardboard box. It was a small target actually, but it was the largest item there. Realisation dawned her as she recognised the logo printed on the side of it.

"Really?" she asked with surprise. "You have me aiming at a shoebox?"

"If you hadn't noticed, there ain't exactly a lot of shit left to aim at 'round here no more. Had to make do with what I could. For some reason the guards weren't in the habit of teaching inmates accurate aim as part of their rehabilitation."

"Probably a waste of time anyway," she chuckled as she prepared to take the shot. "I'm pretty sure most of the inmates were already familiar with a gun." Focusing on the shoebox and only the shoebox, Carol took a deep breath and leaned against the railing slightly.

"Wait." Daryl's voice was soft but commanding.

She signed and lowered her rifle. "Yes?"

"Take that off."

Carol spun around abruptly, slamming into Daryl's chest with more force than she thought possible. The action sent her stumbling back slightly, her lower back connecting painfully with the metal railing behind her. Daryl's hand reflexively flew out, gripping her hip tightly as he kept her steady. Carol held the gun firmly across her chest. What the hell was he talking about?

"Excuse me?" she asked shakily.

His fingers clutched her hip tightly. Daryl's eyes were fixed on the purple fabric wrapped around her head. "Take that off first," he muttered, his eyes never leaving scarf as he spoke.

Carol's right hand rose to touch the item on her head. "Why?"

She couldn't for the life of her think what Daryl's sudden problem was with the scarf. He'd seen her wearing it wrapped around her head before. In fact, the last time she'd worn a scarf on her head was the day Lori-

Carol's eyes widened with shock as the truth hit her. The last time she had worn a scarf wrapped around her head like that was the day Lori died. The day T-Dog sacrificed himself.

The day Daryl thought she had died in the tombs.

This was why he had barely spoken to her when she first arrived at the tower. That one simple item of clothing was bothering him more than he could say. He was still dealing with the loss of Merle; he didn't need other painful reminders of the past adding insult to injury. He wanted to make sure she could protect herself when the next move in the game of war was made, and she had inadvertently reminded him of the day she almost died.

The day he hadn't been able to protect her.

Reaching up, Carol started to unwind the offending item from her head, watching his pained face the entire time. Once the scarf was off, she balled it up and threw it to the floor. "Better?" she asked hesitantly.

His gaze dropped her head to find her eyes. The relief she saw there was indescribable. "Better," he nodded his head faintly in agreement as he released her hip from his grasp. Her skin tingled from the loss of his touch.

Reaching out, Carol grasped Daryl's hand in her own, squeezing it gently as she tried to communicate her understanding, her acceptance of why he needed this. She knew he couldn't handle losing any more members of his family. The timid squeeze she felt him returning brought a gentle smile to her face. Knowing what she had to do, Carol released his hand and turned back to face the targets. Raising the rifle, she focused on the toy in the grass.

"Like shooting rubber ducks at the county fair," Carol whispered to herself as she took aim.

A movement in the foliage stole her attention away from the yellow target in her sights. Carol moved the weapon slightly higher, using the scope to get a better look at whatever was out there. Finally finding the creature responsible for the disturbance, Carol smiled brightly at the sight before her. She passed the rifle to Daryl as he moved next to her at the railing, nodding her head towards the forest wordlessly as she did so. She knew he would need to use the rifle; they were too far away and the rifle was more suited to task at hand than his crossbow would be.

A large buck emerged from the forest, its head down as it grazed the long grass at its feet. The early morning light made the animal's coat glisten as if covered with a million tiny jewels. The buck raised its velvety head; the king of the forest stood proudly before its captivated audience.

"There's so much ugliness now, you forget how beautiful the world can really be," Carol mused as she watched the animal walking around. "Makes me think of all the poetry I learnt in English class when I was younger." She signed, knowing what was coming. It was the nature of the world they lived in now.

"Yeah well, Merle weren't much for poetry but he always did say…" Daryl paused as he pulled the trigger, watching with grim satisfaction as the buck crumpled to the ground dead. "Deer are fucking majestic."

Carol turned her head to watch the man standing next to her. He was frozen; a majestic deer caught in the headlights of Merle's death. His pain was still fresh. This was the first time he had spoken of his brother since the attack on the prison. He kept his eyes focused out across the yard towards his latest kill. He wasn't watching the dead animal though, Carol knew that. She could see the unshed tears he tried to hide.

And there it was. The ghost in the room that had haunted Daryl for the last month had reared its ugly head once more. Between the battle with Governor and the integration of the new residents, she knew Daryl hadn't had a chance to morn. He hadn't allowed himself time to properly grieve for his brother. He hadn't had time to heal.

Honestly, Carol didn't know if Daryl would ever recover from Merle's death.

"I'm sorry about your brother," she said quietly. "I was wrong about him. He was good for you. Without his sacrifice we might not have made it this far."

He sniffed and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. "I best go get that deer."

She knew he wasn't just going out there to get the carcass before it attracted walkers; he was escaping before his emotions spilled out in front of her.

"Wait," Carol ordered as she plucked the rifle from Daryl's slack grip. She needed him to know that their family would be ok; that _she_ would be ok in this new world. There was only one way she could think of to show him that she was strong enough to survive this war. Raising the rifle, Carol let three rounds fly one after the other in quick succession aimed at the ground below. She looked across at Daryl, watching as his face transformed from an expression of grief to one of amazement.

"The hell was that?" Daryl asked with shock. "I thought you was just an _alright_ shot?"

The centre of the painted bullseye and the logo on the shoebox had both been nailed with the precision of a military sniper. All that was left of the rubber duck was a pool of yellow plastic shards.

Carol shrugged her shoulders. "I also said I could hold my own."

His mouth hung open as he stood looking at the remains of the targets on the ground.

"I'll take my reward now," Carol grinned impishly as she knocked his shoulder lightly with her own, bringing his attention back to her.

His mouth twitched with the faintest trace of a smirk as he wordlessly reached into his jacket and handed her the toothbrush. Their fingers brushed, sending electricity through Carol's arm again. The sensation only increased as Daryl closed his hand around hers, gently squeezing her fingers with his own. Looking into his eyes, Carol saw the faint glimmer of hope there.

Giving a man like Daryl Dixon hope was difficult.

They would survive this war. She was sure of that. And now he was sure too.

**A/N: Thanks for reading. This is my attempt at throwing my hat in the ring for the USS CARYL One Year Anniversary Contest. I'm sure you've all seen the fantastic stories being posted here as part of this competition, but if you haven't seen them the rules of the promt were simple:**

**1000-4000 word limit. **

**Mention a rubber duck, a shoebox, a purple scarf and a toothbrush.**

**The action must take place in the watchtower.**

**Must include the phrase "Deer are fucking majestic."**

**Must be Caryl-centric.**

**I hope you all enjoyed! I've never written using a prompt before, and the experience was very interesting. I've never written a prompt before, much less using a word limit. This was fun and challenging at the same time.**


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